


The Haunted Traveller

by asgardianstarfish (vyxythepixie)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Ghost Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Smut, Thorki - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 20:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15736932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vyxythepixie/pseuds/asgardianstarfish
Summary: After the snap, Thor retreats to a distant planet to grieve. A ghostly visitor persuades him to carry on.





	The Haunted Traveller

It looks a lot like an English countryside on Earth but the people of this land are less advanced. They do not begrudge the god the use of one of their old huts. It’s not really a choice. It isn’t anyone’s home so he takes it, and they are not capable of stopping him. They bring him offerings for a while. Then they realise the skies are not as dark or frightening when they leave him alone. The rain, however, comes every night.

He lies sprawled naked upon the straw-stuffed bedding, one hand resting on the hilt of the axe that had failed in its murderous purpose. Naked because he stumbles out every evening to let the rain soak his skin, as if it will wash the pain and make him anew. It never does and he does not have the will to dress. His bionic eye sits on the ground nearby, disconnected from him; right now it only makes his scar twinge all the worse.

He does not care if anyone would call him a coward. Fate has seen to it that it only takes and takes. So he will be its champion no more, not when its continual thirst for blood and battle brings him no reward. There is no longer any glory, only the pain of losing those he loves, and it seems no amount of rain can express the anguish in his heart.

“I have failed you. Just as I have failed you time and time again. I was blind to you, which is rather ironic now. I am not fool enough to only blame myself. I think we were both doomed to this path, me with my ignorance, you being what you were. But I did everything in my power to lead you all to safety and still they all died and you along with them. You would think I would have learned to mourn you and to do so less than the sum of our people, but you were always there, for good or ill. You were always my drive and my balance. Now I have failed half the universe. What more can be left for me? I am done and so I shall lie here and keep my curses away, and talk to myself, and beg all the gods and greater powers to bring you to me regardless of what I deserve.”

There is the impression of a hand on his hip and he opens his eye. An impossible voice speaks softly.

“And if I were here, what then?”

Thor turns. He’s surprised he does not do it quickly, but this feels like a dream, and something so fragile he’s afraid it may vanish. It’s dark, the rain battering away at the hut’s roof, but he can see the silhouette in the bed with him. It glows faintly, shaded as if by celestial chalk, in the shape of Loki. Thor takes a shuddering breath as he rests upon his back and the immaterial hand moves to his thigh.

“If you were here, I would do anything for you. I would have you know you are loved and that although I know it is wrong, that I should not have these feelings, that perhaps this is why Fate has seen to punish me, I would keep you in my bed and let you do anything you wanted.”

“Turn over, brother.”

He almost resists, wary of being misused by some unknown power, yet Thor feels it to the core of his being that this is Loki and he no longer cares if he receives a knife through the back. If anything he rues the idea that he cannot continue to look upon his face. Thor rolls once again onto his front. He does not expect the sensation of bare skin against his own, the soft impression of Loki’s chest, a leg hooked across his thigh, a whisper of lips at his nape.

“This cannot be you,” he rumbles. “You would never be so tender. There is too much between us.”

“Death works wonders on perspective.” Kisses trail, in and out of phase, down Thor’s spine. “But if it is rough you want…”

The feeling of a hand clutches hard to Thor’s buttock and he jolts. “Another night I would beg it of you. I would have you make me bellow and howl, mark my skin and force me to feel you. Perhaps not even another night, perhaps this one, but if my brother offers kindness and solace, I entreat it before anything else.”

Lips press to his neck. Thor glimpses the outline of that beloved face.

“Very well.”

That sense of closeness remains even as Thor gasps, something hard and not quite there digging into his sacrum, a wet finger pushing between his cheeks and inside him. It’s maddening how not quite enough it is, not simply because of its narrow girth but its transitory presence. He squirms, pushing back against it, as if getting it deeper will somehow make the intrusion more solid. Another finger joins the first and Thor’s breath hitches hearing silken words in his ear.

“Save me, brother. Reclaim me from this realm and I will make this real. The past can be behind us and there is so much I would make up for.”

“I do not know how.”

“You will find a way. Bend time, challenge death, show this universe what you are, and you will find me. Then we will be together as we never dared, as I will be for you tonight.”

Thor moans, clutching the sheets. There is a third spectral finger inside him and the tips nudge somewhere perfect. It makes his cock throb and leak and his hole quiver. It’s impossible and yet he feels wet within, as though lubricant has been applied where it cannot be. “Loki. Gods, I need you. I’ve missed you. I don’t know what to do with you gone. I cannot hide it from you, not now, not this night. I could care less if you used me or if this is my mind gone half mad. Fuck me. Possess me. Be with me now and I swear I will find you.”

The fingers withdraw and he almost whimpers to be filled again, drawing a breath of anticipation when the changeable grasp of hands finds his hips.

“Wait,” he says, “let me see your face.”

“Do not hurt yourself.”

“If it will not send you away, I would rather see you.” Not hearing any protest, Thor rolls over again onto his back. He looks at the shimmering spirit in awe and grief. Loki’s eyes are dark, as is the shape of a large handprint around his throat, shadows over his otherwise gold-green presence. “Oh, Loki.” He reaches for him with one hand. His fingers pass through the side of the beloved face. “I wish I could have made him pay, that I could bring you back.”

“You will. You can. Death will not keep its hold on me. I do not think it knows what to do with me. Hush now, brother. Or do you not want me working my magic?” Loki smirks. Somehow the expression makes his haunted form look gentler, kinder.

A tear rolls down Thor’s cheek but he manages to smile. “I want nothing more. Well, almost nothing.”

A hungry kiss presses to his lips that brushes against them and passes through, brushes again, like trying to touch silk in the wind. Thor tries to take him into his arms but he cannot hold him. It seems the pressure has to come from Loki alone and Thor craves every not-quite-embrace. He hums needily as Loki envelops him and if he concentrates hard enough he’s sure he can smell him, that pine and dark treacle musk. Something buffets between his legs, up against his entrance. Thor moans softly, hardly believing he could want something so forbidden.

“Loki…please…”

Gentle thunder rolls overhead, the unending rain still falling but soothing in its peppering of the roof, no longer furious.

Then he feels it, the slow yet forceful thrust as Loki claims him, stretching him, burying deep. Thor whimpers, desperate to have more. It’s not enough, not when he cannot feel its permanence.

“Fuck me, brother. Punish me for failing you. I need to feel you, _please_.”

Loki’s hands curl around his wrists and the grip tightens, pinning his arms down either side of his head. It brings Thor hope.

“I thought you wished me to be gentle?” Loki admonishes, his unnecessary breath ragged.

“It’s not enough. I think you are more there when you are fierce. Take me, make use of me. I love you, Loki. If you feel the same, do what you must to show me.”

The ghost god snarls and slams into him and Thor roars, pained and euphoric all at once. Thunder rips through the air above the hut, so loud it startles the few villagers who had drawn near, curious about the lessened rains. It’s for the best that they scream and run before they can spy upon him.

He lets himself be gathered in Loki’s arms, their hold persistent enough that it seems to him that it is always there. His mouth twists into a bittersweet grin as he feels harsh kisses and bites at his neck and cheek, his cries temporarily a staccato laugh before they revert to animal bellows with every drive of his brother’s length. Somehow, for a fleeting moment, he is terrified that Loki might get cast out of Valhalla for this, if that is where he is – _he must be!_ But it is as though Loki hears this for he hushes him between his echoing gasps and kisses him. The kiss draws on him as though it begs to steal his soul and Thor finds himself letting go. _Take me, take me with you. Take all of me._

Loki bares his teeth and his translucent hand clutches Thor’s throat. “Don’t you dare,” he barks. “Live. Live to get us back.” The hand slips to rest at the side of his neck, in that place Thor so favoured. He’s leaning up now and his other hand snatches Thor’s cock, fisting it fast, and it’s like nothing Thor’s ever felt, soft and firm and on and off in rhythm with the deep thrusts inside. Thor feels like he is vibrating and floating, the attention so cruel and perfect in how the phantom pleasure succeeds in taking him to the edge. His eye burns white with his seidr.

“Hhhaahhh-aaahhh- _Lokiiii_!”

The orgasm wracks his body, the whole of him seeming as wet as if he had lain outside. His skin glistens with sweat, his stomach spattered violently with his finish. He exhales a delirious sob at the sensation of Loki’s own climax, revelling in the shame of the illicit, knowing there is no going back from the fact it trickles out between them.

“I love you more than anything,” Thor gasps. “Stay with me, I beg you.”

“I cannot,” Loki says, but the words are gentle, rueful. He kisses Thor’s chest.

“Will you come again?”

“I do not know if I can, but I will try.” He withdraws from Thor. There at least he has the advantage of his condition for there is no discomfort, only the emptiness of no longer being filled. “Do not wait for me like this,” he adds. “I have no intention of only loving you in this form. I did not give myself to you as I should have when I was alive. This must be corrected. Rest now, brother. Then take up your axe and go back. Finish what you began. Take back what is yours.”

“And you, are you mine?”

“I am.”

With one last evanescent kiss, the god of mischief fades.

Dawn brings with it a clear sky and the promise of warmth. The visiting deity is gone and the thunder with him.

**Author's Note:**

> So I got given the prompt of 'ghost sex' and here we are. Pretty much the same plot as 'Salvage' only this is definite thorki and Loki's sadly not among the living (but don't worry, Thor will get him back). Hope people enjoy the smutty little comfort drabble.


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